


What Happens at Alpha Con...

by froggydarren



Category: Teen Wolf (TV) RPF
Genre: Alpha Con inspired fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2014-07-12
Packaged: 2018-02-08 13:08:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1942344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/froggydarren/pseuds/froggydarren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are things Dylan is expecting from the convention - fans, screaming, questions, posing for photos and having to fend off his castmates' attempts to drag him out partying. What he's not prepared for is his nervousness about it all and the person who ends up helping the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Happens at Alpha Con...

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pureklaination](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pureklaination/gifts), [herdnerder](https://archiveofourown.org/users/herdnerder/gifts).



The way their flights were arranged, as individuals and not as a group, Dylan doesn’t get to see anyone until the day of the group panel. Or rather, until just before they all go up on stage for the panel, when he doesn’t even get to do more than say a quick hello to Linden and JR and wave at the rest of them.

And it’s not that he _minds_ , really, but he would’ve liked to talk potential strategy for the panel or pre-approved answers, or… everything. Conventions still freak him out, but it’s easier with the whole cast, when they take the heat off of him and the questions are varied. It’s the solo one that he knows he has later that worries him. It shouldn’t. He’s a professional. He knows how to deal with press and even more so with _fans_. But still, Dylan can’t help the uneasy feeling in his stomach that appeared the moment he woke up in the morning.

It’s not during the group panel, though, that he settles a little. Sure, they fall into the usual camaraderie and banter, he laughs his way through most of it, talks shit like everyone is used to and even manages to forget the crowd full of eyes that’s on him. By some sort of providence, Tyler is by Dylan’s side, and that makes all the difference. He has never felt the need to say it out loud, but it’s Tyler whom Dylan has clicked with most. They don’t need to talk, Dylan doesn’t have to _say_ anything, but he knows that Tyler is aware of the undercurrent of nervousness that buzzes under Dylan’s skin.

Only after they’ve done a round of autographs does Dylan get the chance to properly acknowledge Tyler’s presence. Still a little in the signing zone, and feeling his wrist ache a little from the repetitive movement, Dylan glances to the table next to his and grins when Tyler immediately looks up and waves him over.

“Hey, D, you good?” Tyler asks, not beating around the bush. “Come here, buddy,” he adds and pulls Dylan into a hug.

Dylan clings a little, admittedly, holds on to Tyler for a beat longer than necessary just to regain his footing.

“We’re up for photos after lunch, do you wanna eat together?” Tyler says quietly into Dylan’s ear, so no one else can hear.

There are cheers in the room when they hug, and _fuck_ , he should’ve known. He pulls away at that and lets Tyler turn to the crowd, but mutters a “yes”, just loudly enough that he knows Tyler will hear. They don’t look at each other then, and Dylan walks off, mimicking his displeasure to the fans with a thumbs-down. He’s just hugging a co-star, they really shouldn’t make a big deal out of it.

He knows why they do. So does Tyler, and everyone else, since they’re all too aware of tumblr and shipping. It’s not like they don’t _feed_ it, but there are moments when Dylan feels a pang in his chest because of it all.

The assistant leads him to the photo op rooms, and Dylan basically falls into Linden’s arms with a muttered “Dad” and a feeling of relief. They’re only a father and son duo on screen, but some of it has bled over into their personal relationship, not the least because of the time they spend together on set.

“Hey kiddo, how’re you holding up,” Linden asks when Dylan lets go.

“Cool,” Dylan says with what he hopes comes across as a nonchalant shrug.

Linden narrows his eyes, and that alone makes it clear that Dylan sucks at lying.

“Nervous,” he admits then, letting the feeling of Linden’s palm on his shoulder soothe and steady him.

“The talk later?” Linden asks, though Dylan is sure he doesn’t need to answer.

He nods anyway, then quietly adds, “I went straight into the panel earlier,” like that explains everything.

It probably does, because Linden nods understandingly and squeezes Dylan’s shoulder.

“You gonna be okay for the photos?”

“Yeah, that’s… there are no questions there,” Dylan says with a sigh. “It’s easier when there are no questions.”

Again, Linden nods and smiles, but then their little bubble gets burst by the staff members who usher them to their photo op markers. That’s familiar, in a strangely comforting way - hit the mark, look _at_ the camera for a change, be attentive to people. With the doubles with Linden being done first, Dylan settles into a rhythm of it quickly, and then slips out when Linden’s solo pics are taken. He doesn’t inquire about Tyler specifically, instead takes a peek at the schedule that he does ask for, because they did sort of agree on lunch together. That’s the only reason he wants to know where Hoech is, nothing else.

_Jesus, Dyl, at least be convincing when you’re lying to yourself_ , he thinks then, as he tries not to let the blush spread across his whole face.

He’s just getting the explanation about lunch being in the green room -- he’s been in it before, briefly -- when Tyler pops up out of nowhere and asks, with the polite smile that Dylan still isn’t impervious to, if there’s somewhere quiet they could use instead. The volunteer checks it with the organizers and then leads them into one of the meet-and-greet rooms, promising to bring lunch shortly.

“Hey,” Dylan says when they’re left alone, and scuffs his shoe against the carpet.

“Come here,” Tyler says with a chuckle.

And then Dylan is pulled into a hug without any warning at all. He clings again, his arms wrapped tight around Tyler’s shoulders, and lets himself relax a little more than earlier, in the room full of people.

“Better?” Tyler asks after a while, but neither of them lets go.

“Yeah,” Dylan breathes out and nods. “Yeah, thanks.”

There’s a knock on the door then, and Tyler pulls away to open it, then lets the staffer in to set up their lunch. When they’re alone again, Dylan falls into one of the chairs and suddenly realizes he’s starving, so he digs in, trying to ignore the chuckle from Tyler.

“‘m hungry,” Dylan manages to get out between mouthfuls.

“I didn’t notice,” Tyler snarks back with a grin. “Growing boy, yadda yadda, I know.”

“Shut up.”

“Shutting. No, wait, can’t, have to eat.”

“Stop _talking_ then, _jeez_ ,” Dylan says with an eyeroll and a nudge against Tyler’s side.

He hears another chuckle, but he stares at his plate with determination. There’s a tension in the air, something that he’s come to accept as _normal_ with Tyler. He used to chalk it up to the dynamic between their characters in the past, but lately, he’s not so sure. There have been several occasions where Dylan wondered about character bleed, but then he realized that as long as the show didn’t go there with Stiles and Derek, it wasn’t a plausible explanation. But it’s not like he can ask Tyler, despite their closeness. Dylan doesn’t know himself what he wants, not on the level of admitting anything to himself, so not asking prevents him from having to face those thoughts.

They finish their lunch in silence, and Tyler doesn’t probe even once their plates are pushed aside. Instead, he throws an arm around Dylan’s shoulder, their chairs close together, and they fall into a relatively easy conversation about the con’s schedule.

“You gonna come out with us tonight?” Tyler asks once they’ve figured out the time frames and breaks.

“Don’t know yet,” Dylan answers with a shrug. “I’ve got an early meet-and-greet tomorrow, should probably be awake for that.”

“No one said anything about partying hard, man,” Tyler laughs.

“Is Ian organizing it?” Dylan asks, his eyebrow quirked up.

“Well, yeah,” Tyler says with a nod. “Fair point. No such thing as a quiet evening.”

“Definitely not if JR is in on it. God, there will be photos, won’t there?”

“You could ask them not to,” Tyler says quietly.

“I think I’ll pass, this time. Call home.”

“Want me to stop by after?”

Dylan shrugs, but hopes that it translates to Tyler as an invitation. He doesn’t think he’ll be in the mood for the whole group, though he loves them all dearly, but sometimes he needs his space. And oh hey, his brain supplies him with the information that said need for space obviously doesn’t involve Hoech’s presence. Or lack of it. Which, what the fuck?

“Come on, D, time to dazzle the cameras,” Tyler pulls away then, obviously not noticing Dylan’s impromptu internal freak-out.

“Bossy,” Dylan remarks when he feels his hand being tugged on.

Then he’s almost doubling over with laughter, because Tyler’s expression turns into a ridiculous combination of his Derek-ish Grumpy Cat glare and a pout.

“Oh fuck, do that face in one of the photos, I dare you,” Dylan manages to say when he stops laughing.

Eventually, they both do stop laughing, just in time because the volunteers knock on the door to not only get the room emptied for the next meet-and-greet, but also to usher them to the photo op room. Dylan tries to not notice JR and Linden’s surprised glances when they meet in the hallway. He knows that at the very least Linden is aware of just how close Dylan and Tyler have gotten, but it’s likely that everyone has picked up on something. Not that Dylan wants to think too hard about the subtle nudges and smirks. So he follows Tyler and their assigned volunteers into the photo room and sighs with relief when he’s handed a baseball bat, the first joke from Tyler easing the tension immediately.

He barely notices time passing once the photo op with Tyler wraps, even in the space he has before his own meet-and-greet. There’s a nod of acknowledgment and a quick text message from Tyler about later, and Dylan answers quickly with a confirmation. The door to his room is barely closed behind him when he falls face-first onto his bed and does what he does best - naps.

\---

“Dylan.”

“Dyl!”

“D.”

He mumbles and pushes his face further into the pillow to drown out the voice that he’s pretty sure should _not_ be there. It’s Tyler’s, Dylan’s brain manages to process that much, but Tyler is somewhere else in the hotel, or out with Ian and JR, as he said he would be.

_Not gonna dream this shit again_ , Dylan thinks and immediately starts wondering if his brain slipped into character. _Not Stiles, not having hallucinations_.

The moment he feels the touch of a hand on his shoulder, though, he startles and only just holds back a yelp of surprise. Hearing voices is one thing; there are dreams he is trying really hard to _not_ remember when he’s awake. But he’s never gone so far as to imagine physical contact, which means he’s not dreaming.

“Fuck!”

“Sorry, man,” Tyler’s voice carries an amused tone. “Didn’t mean to give you a heart attack.”

“Doesn’t take much,” Dylan mumbles, knowing his words aren’t clear enough to understand.

He turns and blinks his eyes open slowly, then squints at the harsh bright light that’s flooding the room.

“The fuck are you doing in my room?” He grumbles, but there’s no heat to the question.

“Your assistant let me in,” Tyler shrugs like it’s no big deal. “We both figured you’d respond better to someone you know.”

“Why didn’t you knock like a normal person?”

“Tried that, you were out cold,” Tyler explains, and Dylan’s eyes are finally open enough that he can _see_ the crinkles by Tyler’s eyes instead of just hearing the amusement in his voice. “Did you sleep at all on the flight over?”

“Too many people,” Dylan says with a sigh. “Not enough alcohol to knock me out.”

“I am not even gonna start on the amount of _wrong_ that was in that explanation.”

“Fuck you too,” Dylan says and rubs his eyes. “Why are you even here? Thought you guys were heading out for drinks.”

“We did, we were, we’re back to show up at the party,” Tyler says like that’s supposed to explain everything.

Dylan blinks at him and knows that his expression is pure confusion. His brain has completely purged the convention’s schedule and “party” is a completely unfamiliar thought.

“The Blacklight Party?” Tyler half asks, then sighs when Dylan shows no signs of understanding. “They have the party evenings each night of the con, tonight’s the blacklight one.”

Finally, Dylan’s brain seems to get with the program and he remembers the note on the schedule.

“Aw shit, I blanked out on everything after my meet-and-greet,” he says quietly. “Do we have to?”

It’s not an unexpected question, because Dylan does remember some events that had appearances like this written into their contracts. Tyler shakes his head this time, though.

“Nah, we just figured, the crowd here is cool, we should be okay,” he explains. “No one’s gonna fault you for not going though; we can say you’re jet-lagged.”

“I’m good, I’ll go, just give me a second to…” Dylan waves his hand at himself to convey that he’s all sleep-rumpled and should look decent if he’s going to be in public.

“Don’t know what you think you need to do,” Tyler smirks. “You’re all cute and fluffy,” he adds and reaches out to mess with Dylan’s hair.

“‘m not Posey, gerroff my hair,” Dylan grumbles as he tries to swat Tyler’s hand away but misses completely.

“Wouldn’t attempt that with Posey’s hair, too much shit in it,” Tyler keeps grinning as he speaks, all too cheerful for Dylan’s levels of being awake.

“Go ruffle Sharman’s hair then,” Dylan grunts. “I’d send you to the others, but…”

“Don’t finish that sentence or I’ll feel obligated to tattle on you,” Tyler says and laughs louder. “Come on, sleepy head, we’ll pop in, be seen, then I’ll come tuck you back in.”

Dylan’s eyebrows shoot up at the words, but he bites his tongue instead of letting something slip that he’s not entirely sure about. Sure, they’d done the unintentional flirting thing before, but nothing actually conscious and deliberate, because there was no reason. But right now, being still a little fuzzy around the edges from sleeping and from _thinking that he was dreaming up Hoech_ , Dylan doesn’t know what exactly he might blurt out.

“Traitor,” he mumbles instead, making his mind stick to the part about Tyler tattling to their cast mates.

“Aw, they love you, it’s not like they’d hold a grudge,” Tyler says with a laugh, then his eyebrows scrunch like he’s reconsidering his words. “Well, no, wait, Ian might. I don’t think he’s forgiven either of us for the time…”

“I am _not_ having this conversation,” Dylan grumbles. “He’s pretty convincing at being a cold-blooded murderer, occasionally.”

“Fine, fine,” Tyler laughs. “Are you gonna move or do I have to carry you downstairs?”

“Asshole.”

“Hey, uncalled for, I just offered to help.”

Tyler actually _pouts_ , and Dylan suddenly doesn’t know what to do with that. He feels the urge to go for a play-punch like they usually do, but he also wants to kiss the pout away and _what the fuck is wrong with him_? He manages to get off the bed after a moment and shakes his head in an attempt to clear out the cobwebs that the nap left behind along with the thoughts that he really doesn’t want to deal with right now.

“Hey, hey, D, come here,” Tyler says just as Dylan sways a little from the movement.

The next thing he knows, Tyler has him wrapped in a hug that’s similar to the one earlier that day, but closer, less guarded, and that tiny bit warmer. Dylan gives in and hugs back a moment later, letting his breathing settle from the shakiness he woke up with.

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he mumbles into Tyler’s shoulder, partly hoping that Tyler won’t hear the words.

“There’s a list, somewhere,” Tyler responds. “I’m pretty sure there is.”

“Fuck you,” Dylan grunts, but he smiles a little before his eyebrows scrunch again. “No, seriously,” he says and pulls away a tiny bit, not yet willing to end the hug. “I’m not … you know I don’t do nerves at events like this. Not _this_ bad.”

“Sleep deprivation, bigger crowd,” Tyler’s shoulder bumps into Dylan’s chin as he shrugs along with his words. “Don’t sweat it, D,” he says and moves away to look at Dylan properly. “You _can_ skip the party if you think it’s too much.”

“No, I’ll go.” Dylan shakes his head. “But I might call it a night early.”

“I don’t think anyone was planning to stick around too long,” Tyler says and smiles softly. “Linden might not be around at all since he’s flying out early tomorrow, Dan and Ian brought a stash to their room, which means they’re likely to somehow wrangle JR into joining them…”

“And by _JR_ , you really mean _you_ , right?” Dylan can’t help the smirk, all too aware of how used the older part of the cast was to partying.

“Nah, I’ve had my share of that particular bonding for tonight,” Tyler says and shrugs. “I’ll turn in early, I think.”

“Dude, you’re not up until noon tomorrow,” Dylan notes, remembering the schedule for the event. _Not_ that he would’ve checked out Tyler’s name on it before. He didn’t. Then he finally lets go of Tyler and moves to his suitcase. “Unlike the rest of us,” Dylan adds with a sigh, thinking of the morning meet-and-greet.

Tyler just shrugs and doesn’t elaborate, which fills Dylan with curiosity, but he decides to not question it this time. _Maybe there will be a chance later_ , he thinks.

“At least I’ll have a warm-up at the meet-and-greet tomorrow,” he says, his back turned to Tyler and his hands in the suitcase. “Today’s one was pretty cool. It should make the panel easier.”

“Not gonna lie, I’m sort of glad I didn’t get a solo one,” Tyler remarks.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up,” Dylan rolls his eyes, then he pulls out the bracelet he was looking for with a victorious whoop. “Found it!”

It’s a fluorescent one that he bought and never used at a party back home, forever ago, and he remembered it -- and the party theme tonight -- when he was packing. Tyler eyes it with curiosity first, then recognizes it and smirks.

“Always prepared?”

“I’m a professional, Hoech, you just dropped the ball on this one,” Dylan says and laughs, then slips the bracelet on. “Come on, let’s show our faces and see if your dimples can get us free drinks.”

“I’m pretty sure your face and name can get us the whole bar tonight,” Tyler responds and opens the door, then lets Dylan out first.

“Well there’s a challenge if I ever heard one,” Dylan replies.

“Hey, D,” Tyler says and puts a hand on Dylan’s shoulder before they get to the elevators. “If you need an out…”

“I’ll tell you,” Dylan says with a nod. “Thanks.”

The party is pretty cool, Dylan has to admit, once they’re there. There’s a corner sectioned off for them so they can hang out for a while without getting swarmed by fans, but it’s not like anyone seems to be doing that anyway. The people are chill, the music is good, and Dylan finds that beyond having to raise his voice to be heard like he’d have to at any other party, he’s not worrying.

Still, his jet lag kicks in soon enough and he tries to come up with an excuse to leave without looking like an asshole. Tyler finds him before Dylan figures it out, though, and pulls him to the side.

“You wanna slip out?”

Dylan nods sluggishly, the tiredness taking over his body, and glances to Tyler with an expression that he hopes translates his thankfulness.

“Want me to come with?”

_Oh_. That’s not a question Dylan is prepared for, and his automatic reaction is to shake his head. He doesn’t miss the frown on Tyler’s face, the worry that he saw earlier in the day too.

“Walk me up?” Dylan’s suggestion comes out more as a question. “Then you can head down again, have fun.”

“Okay,” Tyler answers and nods. “Let me just…” he adds and waves to the staff and towards Daniel, who’s been hanging out near them since they got to the party.

Dylan nods and leans against the wall, trying to keep his eyes open for a little while longer. He barely registers Tyler coming back and lets himself be led out of the room, flanked by Tyler on one side and one of the volunteers on the other. When they get to the elevators Tyler glances to the volunteer and then back to Dylan.

“D, I’ll head back for a little bit, then I’ll come up, okay?”

Another question that catches Dylan off-guard, but he’s too tired to think it through too hard. He nods and shuffles into the elevator, fighting the urge to close his eyes. The next part is a blur -- getting out on their floor, finding the room, mumbling a thank you to the volunteer who opens the door for him, belly-flopping onto the bed, closing his eyes. There’s some time that he’s asleep for, he realizes, when a hand wraps around his shoulder and he startles, then turns to meet Tyler’s eyes. Dylan refuses to let his brain dwell on how Tyler got back into the room, because that opens the door to more questions than he’s capable of dealing with.

“Come on, sleepy, you need to get more comfortable,” Tyler smiles, more gently than Dylan is used from him. “Need help with anything?”

Dylan shakes his head as he sluggishly moves around and heads for the bathroom, pajamas in his hand. When he gets back into the room, Tyler is sitting on the edge of the bed, the worrying frown back on his face. Dylan falls onto the covers and then lets Tyler nudge him until he’s on the bed properly.

“Want me to come to wake you up in the morning?” Tyler asks and starts getting up.

“No,” Dylan answers quietly.

He’ll eventually blame the jet lag, or temporary insanity, or the heat he dealt with during the day. His hand moves before Tyler can get away from the bed, and Dylan blinks enough to get his eyes open. Then he whispers the one word that his brain is repeating at him over and over.

“Stay.”

\---

It’s not dark when Dylan stirs eventually, but it’s not bright enough that he’d need to worry about getting up yet. The first semi-conscious thought that he manages to form is “ _ugh, warm_ ”, because he’s not even under the sheets and yet it feels like a sauna. Scrambling for an explanation, he tries to move, but realizes he’s basically pinned down to the bed by a heavy arm thrown across his waist. It tightens around him when he attempts to squirm away, so instead Dylan grumbles and turns his head just enough to see Tyler out of the side of his eye.

Which, _what the fuck?_

Dylan is slowly trying to sift through the previous day’s events, especially the evening, to make sense of Tyler being next to him. He didn’t drink enough to be wasted, not at the party and definitely not anywhere else. But the tiredness obviously did a number on him.

_Stay_.

The word echoes through his mind, his own voice saying it so slurred that now that he remembers, he doesn’t know how Tyler even understood it.

_Stay_.

_Fuck. Fuckety fuck._

Because Tyler did stay. And Dylan has no clue what to make out of that. He’s pretty sure cuddling -- _no, seriously, they’re CUDDLING_ \-- is everything that did happen, unless Hoech is into somnophilia. Which, no, Dylan refuses to think about that. _Not the time for running over your kink list, O’Brien._

The arm around his waist tightens a little, and Dylan freezes, his mind completely blank all of a sudden. He’s pretty sure he didn’t move, not enough to wake Tyler, whom he knows to sleep like the dead.

“Go back to sleep, D,” Tyler mumbles into the silent room. “It’s too early.”

Dylan jumps a little at the sound of Tyler’s voice. He takes another moment to process that he’s not dreaming, then turns around properly until he’s facing Tyler, but he doesn’t dare looking into Tyler’s eyes.

“You stayed,” comes out of Dylan’s mouth when his lips part.

It’s not intentional, he didn’t mean to say anything, didn’t mean for it to sound so surprised and pleased at the same time. Tyler’s hand moves and Dylan can feel the warmth of his open palm against his lower back.

“You asked me to,” Tyler says quietly.

It shouldn’t be new, them being in the same bed together. Not even the touching, or the sleeping. But when Dylan finally looks up, there is one thing that catches him off guard -- the look in Tyler’s eyes is…

... _not new_. Dylan’s brain is unhealthy levels of _not fucking helping_. But he’s seen the look before. He’s seen it on set, in interviews, in table reads, in places he doesn’t even want to start thinking about just so he doesn’t have to admit to himself that it was _everywhere_. Dylan’s breath catches and his lips part again, but this time there are no words accidentally spilling from his mouth.

“Dylan, I…” Tyler says, but pauses, hesitation obvious in his tone.

The words are enough to pull Dylan out of his musings and root him back into reality. The reality in which he’s _in bed_ with Hoech, in which he has a palm flat against his lower back and fingers twitching against his skin where the T-shirt has ridden up. His eyes get drawn to Tyler’s lips, and he doesn’t miss the tongue darting out to lick them.

“Oh fuck it,” Dylan mutters and closes the distance between them, his fingers scrunching the front of Tyler’s T-shirt.

They’ve done things before, cuddles and puppy piles with or without Posey back when they lived together, messing with the chemistry and rumours in interviews. Hugs -- famous by now, and just as good as people are made to believe -- from Hoech are comforting, and Dylan would not deny that he misses them when they don’t see each other too much.

But _kissing_. Tyler’s lips -- warmer than Dylan expected, even with the heat of the room -- press against his own, and Dylan would gasp if his mouth wasn’t occupied. He can feel his heart hammering in his chest from a combination of excitement and worry when he feels Tyler tense. When there is no reciprocation, Dylan starts pulling away and there’s a steady stream of apologies and cursing flooding his brain.

“Sorry, I’m… I don’t… fuck… sorry,” he babbles, barely far enough to give his mouth room to move.

The rest of his apologies don’t make it out, though, because Tyler is there, pulling him closer again and this time Dylan isn’t the one who starts the kiss. And yeah okay, there is no need to hesitate anymore, so Dylan tries to stop thinking. Not that it’s easy, but at least his thoughts shift from worrying and apologies for overstepping to an overwhelming amount of possibilities that the kiss could lead to. Tyler’s fingers dig into Dylan’s skin as the kiss deepens, and Dylan’s soft gasp at the sensation of Tyler’s tongue on his lips gets swallowed in their mouths.

“D… I’m sorry,” Tyler whispers when he breaks the kiss.

_No, no, I wasn’t done kissing you, come back_ , Dylan’s mind screams. It’s buzzing, processing what just happened, but his voice is _gone_. Finally, Dylan manages to open his eyes and look into Tyler’s, suddenly worried what he’ll find. But when his mind processes Tyler’s expression, it doesn’t come up with anything negative or worth panicking. There’s a small smile tugging on Tyler’s lips, crinkles at the corners of his eyes, and softness that Dylan recognizes, even though he never figured it would be directed at him.

Somewhere in all that though, there’s a hint of hesitation and apology, beneath the happy expression in Tyler’s face, under the relief of not being shut down.

“Did I…” Tyler starts, his voice a little rougher than usual. “I’m sorry if I crossed a line, Dyl.”

“Dude,” Dylan says, finally managing to get control of his voice. “I’m sorry if I did. I mean, I kissed you first,” he adds quietly, feeling a blush heat up his face.

“No lines,” Tyler mumbles just before he presses his lips against Dylan’s again.

_Fuck fuck fuck, no, bad Tyler, danger_ , Dylan’s mind screams. The words open a floodgate of possibilities in Dylan’s brain, images that he has considered on different levels. They bring up dreams he had occasionally, ones that he never mentioned to anyone and chalked up to the sheer frustration and continued exposure to script-dictated shirtlessness on set. He’s not blind, after all, and he’s seen Tyler topless more times than he could easily file away without being affected by it.

Just the memory of Tyler’s skin is enough to bring Dylan’s tongue out past his lips in a gesture he’s familiar with, licking over his bottom lip. Only it’s met with Tyler’s lips now, because while his mind was running with the imagery from filming, he’s somehow lost track of what was happening right there and then. Tyler hums at the contact and Dylan can feel the hunger that mirrors his, the kiss deeper than only seconds ago, Tyler’s fingers digging into his skin again, like he’s trying to resist pulling Dylan closer.

Dylan shifts then, gives in to the imaginary pressure against his back, and he moves closer, arches into the touch that isn’t really there.

“Fuck, Dyl,” Tyler breathes out as he pulls his lips away. “Don’t… if you don’t want…”

“I want,” Dylan whispers and looks up to meet Tyler’s eyes.

They’re closer now, both frozen in place like Tyler is trying to hold back, like he’s trying to keep the wall up and not cross any more lines. Their hips are almost touching now that Dylan moved, and it’s still not enough, not as close as Dylan wants to be. He could blame being sleep-deprived, could claim it’s just a morning boner and waking up from whatever random fantasy or dream. Right now, Dylan knows he could pull away, and Tyler would let it go like nothing ever happened. But it’s not what he wants.

“Tyler, I do want,” Dylan says, almost breathless.

He waits until Tyler’s eyes open -- they’re wide and there’s obvious shock in them -- and then he smiles, palm moving to cup Tyler’s cheek, rough with stubble.

“What…” Tyler says and it’s not what Dylan is expecting, the intonation all wrong for it to be a question. “Okay,” follows after, Tyler’s voice almost sounding broken, like he can’t believe what’s happening, like he’s afraid that he’s going to wake up.

“You?” Dylan asks then, stopping his hand’s movement.

He’s hoping Tyler will get it, that he’ll know all the questions wrapped up in the one word -- _Are you okay with this? Do you want? What do you want? How much is too much? Is there a ‘too much’? Do you want everything like I do?_

“Fuck _yes_ ,” Tyler nods almost imperceptibly.

And that’s enough, that’s the latch that opens the gates in Dylan’s mind, the answer that he needs to stop worrying and hesitating.

“Okay,” he says and lets the stubble on Tyler’s jaw scrape against his palm. “Okay, just let me,” he starts and then breaks his own words off by lunging for another kiss, hungry and _wanting_.

 

Dylan doesn’t dare to do more than kissing for a while. He doesn’t move his hand from Tyler’s jaw, but he doesn’t do anything else with it either, afraid to disrupt the moment. He can feel the way Tyler’s fingers tense, how they press minutely into the skin on Dylan’s back, but it feels like Tyler is hesitating and cautious just as much as Dylan is.

Soon, though, it’s not enough anymore; the deep and hungry kisses, the sparks that they send through Dylan’s body. It becomes almost impossible to not arch his back and shift closer to Tyler, almost intolerable to hold back from moving things along, from trying to get _more_.

“Fuck, Dyl,” Tyler whispers when they both pause for a breath. “I can’t… I _want_ …”

The words echo the thoughts that are running amok in Dylan’s mind, a stream of _want_ , _need_ , _please_ and _more_ that he doesn’t dare follow up with movement to get what his body is looking for. But when Tyler’s voice breaks the silence, it’s the trigger that both of them seem to have been waiting for. Tyler’s palm presses against Dylan’s back like he’s urging him closer, and Dylan doesn’t have it in him to resist anymore. His back arches, away from the hot touch on his back and forward towards Tyler’s body, close enough to touch.

_Fuck_.

Dylan wouldn’t admit to it out loud, but when he feels their hard cocks brush against each other, even with the barrier of clothing between them, he lets out a whimper. He knows how turned on _he_ is, but to feel it reciprocated, to _know_ that Tyler’s reaction is the same, is what breaks the last of his hesitation.

“Fuck,” he says out loud instead of just thinking it and his hand tenses around Tyler’s cheek as he closes the distance between their lips.

His hips jut forward with intent this time, his leg shifts to wrap around Tyler’s as they both move towards each other, both jerking at the contact. The kiss feels like it has intent now, like they’re both hurtling into orgasms already, though it’s not been nearly enough time to be that close.

“Oh fuck,” Dylan mutters against Tyler’s lips when he feels the tension building in his cock. “This might get embarrassing,” he adds, “so fucking _hot_.”

“‘s you,” Tyler mutters back. “Fuck, D, _please_.”

The way Tyler’s voice breaks on the plea is enough to clear Dylan’s head a little bit, only enough to pull back and move his hand from Tyler’s face. He knows his cheeks are flushed and his breathing is shaky, and looking at Tyler’s wide eyes and parted lips is not helping matters at all. For a second Dylan doesn’t know what to do next because there are too many options. He wants to keep kissing Tyler, to catch the little puffs of breath from his mouth and to lick and bite on Tyler’s lips until they’re puffy and red. He wants to move his hips forward and get as much friction as possible until they both lose their minds. He wants to let his fingers wander across Tyler’s skin _everywhere_ , to learn every inch until he has it all memorized.

He doesn’t know if he wants to take his time and get as much as he can in the little time they have, or if he wants to throw himself in and let his body get what it wants _now_. It’s when he sees Tyler slump a little, when he’s faced with Tyler’s head thrown back and his neck exposed as Tyler leans back to catch his breath that Dylan’s mind makes a snap decision. He presses against Tyler’s shoulder until Tyler is on his back, eyes wide and questioning.

“So much to do,” Dylan whispers while he slides his leg over Tyler’s hips and settles on top of them. “So little time,” he says and leans down for another kiss.

“Tease,” Tyler mumbles into the kiss when keeps it light and barely there.

“Problem?” Dylan asks and raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t stop leaving a trail of feather-light kisses from Tyler’s lips towards his neck.

There’s a moment of silence and then Tyler manages to choke out a “no” that ends with a gasp. Dylan smirks against the skin just below Tyler’s ears and lets his tongue dart out for a taste. When he slides down Tyler’s body a little and feels their cocks brush against each other, the reminder that Tyler is just as turned on makes Dylan a little braver. His hands slide under the soft cotton of Tyler’s shirt, and he pushes it up without looking.

“Off, please,” Dylan whispers when he finally looks down at Tyler’s exposed stomach.

An awkward shuffle later, Tyler tosses his T-shirt across the room and gives Dylan an expectant gaze, pointedly directed at the thin fabric covering him up. He doesn’t directly ask Dylan to take his T-shirt off, but the look speaks for itself, really. Dylan hesitates, the difference between their build is obvious enough in his mind that it still intimidates him, more this way in person than it normally would just _looking_ at Tyler. He remembers the jokes about it, from the cast themselves and from the fanbase, the implication that Tyler’s scenes involve so little clothing because he’s as ripped as he is. And Dylan’s “no topless scenes” clause in the contract that was originally there for a different reason, but that’s sticking because his insecurities kick in next to Hoech.

“Come on, D, I want to see you,” Tyler whispers. “I’ve seen you topless before, didn’t I?”

It’s a reminder of their old living arrangements and the semi-frequent _accidental_ glances that both Hoech and Posey caught when Dylan happened to be in their place without a shirt.

“I’ve never complained, did I?” Tyler adds and there’s definitely a playful glint in his eyes.

Dylan’s eyes widen at the comment and he freezes with his hands on the edge of his shirt.

“Wh-what?” He blurts out in shock.

“D, come on, you didn’t notice?”

“Notice _what_ exactly?”

“You think all the play for the cameras was acting?” Tyler asks quietly.

“I…” Dylan hesitates and mulls the question over.

The truth is that he never thought of their on-camera flirting as anything other than play for the fans, nothing more than building on the natural friendly chemistry that he was very aware of from the moment they met. He never even _dared_ to consider there to be more, for any of it to be genuine interest on Tyler’s part. Because if he’s completely honest with himself, Dylan didn’t want to allow himself to hope for more, not when he wasn’t entirely sure that it would be something he wanted. He _wants_ now, though, he’s sure of that at least, but a part of his brain is still making him question the existence of a possibility of it happening, despite the position and situation that they’re in right now.

“...yes?”

It comes out as a question, hesitant and quiet, like he’s afraid to voice it because it might come across wrong, might ruin the moment and along with that everything that they’ve built.

“Do you want it to only be acting?” Tyler asks with a steady voice and Dylan wonders how he can be so calm, so rational, _how is he not freaking out as much as I am?_

But then he feels Tyler’s hands tense against his back, fingertips digging into his skin.

“No,” Dylan breathes out the word, still afraid but not wanting to hold back anymore. “No, I don’t.”

“Okay.”

That’s the only word that Tyler says before his fingers move towards Dylan’s T-shirt and start pushing it up and off of Dylan’s body. Still in a little bit of a shock from their revelations, Dylan lets it happen, lets Tyler take off the fabric and toss it across the room. He lets himself be pulled down into a breathless kiss, and only stops thinking when Tyler deepens it and flicks his tongue over Dylan’s lips.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dylan manages to blurt when he pulls away a tiny bit, wondering how long his arms will hold him above Tyler. “Kiss a lot of boys, Hoech?”

It’s a joke, it’s followed by a chuckle from Dylan’s mouth, but Tyler -- even though there’s a smile tugging on his lips -- answers the question with sincerity that Dylan isn’t quite prepared for.

“Just you.”

The filter between Dylan’s brain and his mouth seems to be thinking that he’s gone Method, apparently, because before he has time to think about it, words spill from his lips.

“Just me _now_ or just me _ever_?”

It’s not like either of them ever elaborated on their sexuality, but Dylan knows himself. He knows that it’s more than simple curiosity when it comes to him finding men attractive, that it’s not just experimentation before he settles down. Boys… _men_ have always been intriguing to him, and he has appreciation for not only the soft curves of girls he’s into but also the harder edges of someone like _Tyler_.

“Now,” Tyler breathes out in response, and then opens his mouth to elaborate.

Dylan knows before he hears the explanation from Tyler’s mouth, he gets that there were others and he is all too aware of this not being Tyler’s first kiss, even off camera. The added knowledge that it wasn’t just women makes something clench in his chest, like he’s disappointed.

“Good,” Dylan says instead of voicing how much he _does not_ want to know details. “At least one of us knows what they’re doing then,” he adds with a tone that is only just this side of light, though it does have a greenish edge he’s not willing to disclose yet.

“You seem to b-be,” Tyler gasps and stutters when Dylan’s lips shift towards his neck again, “doing just fine.”

“Can’t help it if you look good enough to eat,” Dylan mumbles between kisses and licks that he’s leaving along Tyler’s neck and shoulders. “Fuck, Ty, wanna…”

“ _Yes_ , god, anything,” Tyler says with a roughness to his voice that sends shivers down Dylan’s spine.

Dylan pauses and lets his body drop onto Tyler’s, rests his chin on the hot skin of Tyler’s chest, and then he looks up to meet Tyler’s eyes.

“What do you want?”

Dylan’s mouth goes dry when he sees Tyler’s eyes widen at the question, and he licks his lips to stop them from feeling tense. He can see and feel the way Tyler follows the movement with his eyes and then leans into Tyler’s palm when it lifts to curve around the side of Dylan’s head.

“Your mouth is sinful,” Tyler whispers. “I… _that_ ,” he says in one breath, his cheeks flushing darker.

It’s Dylan’s turn to stare blankly, his brain momentarily wiped and empty of anything but the idea of his mouth on Tyler, of Tyler’s cock sliding through his lips. He _wants_ , more than he’s allowed himself to think about it before, more than he’s let himself consider it beyond his dreams.

Once his brain comes back online, Dylan doesn’t hesitate. He turns to Tyler’s chest and starts kissing his way down, following the trail of hair down past his bellybutton and only stops when he reaches the waistband of Tyler’s boxer-briefs.

“Can I?” Dylan asks and tugs on the elastic of them as he looks back up to Tyler.

The only answer he gets is a frantic and enthusiastic nod and a slight shift of Tyler’s hips upwards. A moment later the fabric is out of the way and Dylan’s tongue darts out to slide over his lips again as he does what can only be called _staring_.

“Fuck, you’re perfect _everywhere_ ,” he whispers and then all bets are off, because all he wants is to taste.

So he does.

 

At the first flick of the tip of Dylan’s tongue against the burning skin of Tyler’s cock, a moan sounds through the room, but Dylan isn’t sure whose mouth it came from. Tyler arches off the bed, but Dylan only notices because his palms are on Tyler’s hips. His focus is elsewhere, though, taken over by the urge to taste, lick, and _suck_ until he’s had enough. Which, for all he knows, might be _never_.

It isn’t his first time in bed with a guy, but it’s the first time that it’s not fumbling and quick handjobs, the first time he’s allowing himself to take his time and enjoy. It’s the first time that it’s not something he is doing to get himself off. Above him, Tyler gasps at the swirling of Dylan’s tongue around the tip of Tyler’s hard cock, moans when Dylan sucks on it gently and almost growls when Dylan takes more of it in his mouth.

“Fucking _hell_ , D, you’re… _fuck_ ,” Tyler mumbles and then continues rambling mostly incoherently as Dylan keeps up the sucking, licking and teasing.

A little while later Dylan pauses and pulls away, his breathing shaky. Immediately, he almost whines at the loss of the weight in his mouth, but he doesn’t put his mouth back. There’s a twinge in his knee where it’s pressed against the edge of the bed, so he moves, tries to get more comfortable, or at least to not hurt himself too much. Tyler, after a few moments of Dylan squirming around, seems to realize what Dylan is doing and he slides down on the bed, allowing Dylan to find a more comfortable spot between Tyler’s now wide open legs.

There’s still an ache in his knee, and he knows that it’ll be a bitch to deal with during the day, but it’s not something he wants to focus on. Not when he can see Tyler’s fingers gripping on the sheets, his eyes rolling back and his teeth biting down into his bottom lip. Not when he can feel the tremors under Tyler’s skin that make it seem like Tyler is using all his willpower to stay still.

“Ty… Tyler…”

Dylan barely breathes the name out and Tyler’s eyes find his, pupils blown wide. The eye contact makes everything feel like _more_ when Dylan’s tongue extends to Tyler’s cock again and flicks teasingly.

“F-fuuuuck,” Tyler gasps out but doesn’t look away, even though Dylan can see the effort it takes to not roll his eyes back.

He moves his hands then, without looking at them he slides them over to Tyler’s, nudges them until they let go of the sheets that Tyler’s been gripping. He links their fingers together just as he opens his mouth wide, eyes still on Tyler’s face, and he takes the leaking cock deep inside his mouth, then swallows around it.

That’s enough for Tyler’s eyes to win the fight and they roll back. Tyler’s head falls onto the pillow and his hips jerk up, push deeper into Dylan’s mouth and it’s only a few bobs of Dylan’s head that Tyler, without warning and with a litany of curses, floods Dylan’s mouth with come. His back arches off the bed and Dylan can hear a hiss and an extra _fuck_ when Tyler freezes like that, his cock pulsing between Dylan’s lips, fingers clutching hard enough for Dylan to feel a twinge of pain.

“Sorry, oh god Dyl I’m sorry,” Tyler rambles a few beats later when his body slumps back down onto the sheets and his eyes blink open. “I didn’t… fuck, that was… I should’ve…”

Dylan smirks when he pulls away from Tyler’s softening cock and he licks the few droplets of come from the corner of his lips.

“Don’t, that was… I did that,” he says with amazement in his voice, letting his eyes trail over the length of Tyler’s body that’s still trembling with aftershocks.

“You made me come like I’m a teenager, is what you did,” Tyler says and there’s a hint of him trying to be apologetic and put out in his tone, but it’s obscured by something lighter. “Your mouth is un-fucking-believable,” he adds.

Dylan can’t help the satisfied smirk as he climbs back up on the bed and slides his body on top of Tyler’s, then leans down for a kiss. His own cock is still throbbing when it brushes against Tyler’s skin through the boxers that Dylan’s still wearing.

“I think I threw my back out,” Tyler groans when he tries to move. “I want to… I can’t move.”

“What do you want?” Dylan asks quietly as his lips brush against the skin on Tyler’s neck.

Then he feels fingers tugging on the waistband of his boxers and Tyler’s hand sliding underneath the fabric. Dylan feels the heat of Tyler’s palm against his cock and he gasps when Tyler’s fingers wrap around it.

“This,” Tyler says simply and slides his hand up and down.

“How?”

Dylan isn’t expecting Tyler’s hands to move to his ass, pulling him upwards, nor is he prepared for the sight of Tyler’s lips parting in invitation. He catches his breath and then tries not to flail too much as he inches further up Tyler’s body until his knees are level with Tyler’s shoulders.

“Wanna taste,” Tyler mumbles before his tongue extends just enough to lick the tip of Dylan’s cock.

The contact makes Dylan shiver and lose his balance a little, so he grabs for the headboard just as his hips jerk forward, closer to Tyler’s open mouth. He does try to hold back, to not push his cock between the reddened lips, but he loses that battle when Tyler’s hands pull him closer and in. He can feel the pressure of Tyler’s lips around the tip and then the suction when Tyler swallows around him.

“ _Fuck_ , that’s not fair,” Dylan says with a gasp and can’t stop the way his hips drive forward. “Jesus, Ty, you’re… fuck, this’ll be embarrassingly quick,” he manages to get out as he grips the headboard tighter, still trying to hold back a little bit.

It’s no use, though, as Tyler hums around his cock and pulls Dylan’s hips closer, deeper into his mouth. For a while, Dylan struggles with trying to not relentlessly fuck Tyler’s mouth, though it feels like he _can_ , like he has permission, but he doesn’t want it to be over yet. Tyler’s tongue presses against the length of Dylan’s cock as he sucks harder, fingers almost bruising Dylan’s ass with the way Tyler is pulling him in, deeper. Dylan lets him lead, set the pace for whatever movement he’s allowing himself as his body reacts automatically, however much he’s managing to restrain his movements.

“Tyl... I’m gonna…”

He does try to warn Tyler, tries to pull away, but instead Tyler grips his sides and holds Dylan close as he sucks harder. Then, finally letting go, Dylan tenses as his orgasm washes over him and he trembles with the effort of holding himself up as Tyler swallows his come without hesitation. When the last of the tremors ease off, Dylan feels Tyler’s hands pulling him down. Then their faces are aligned and Tyler’s kissing him, tongue chasing the taste of Dylan’s lips. It’s a first for Dylan, to taste his come on someone else, and it adds to the kiss, makes him want to make it last longer.

“So…” Tyler whispers when their lips finally part.

He seeks out Dylan’s hand and twines their fingers together, and then his lips turn into an almost shy smile that’s in complete contradiction to their lack of clothing and to the mutual blowjobs that Dylan’s still reeling from.

“That happened,” Dylan deadpans and mirrors Tyler’s smile, feeling the heat rise in his cheeks.

“Good morning?”

It’s a question, a million possible meanings behind it, and Dylan doesn’t know which one Tyler is looking to get answered.

“The best,” he says simply, then leans in for a quick and almost chaste kiss.

“D,” Tyler starts then and Dylan can see the uncertainty in his eyes. “Was this a … _what happens in Vegas_ kind of a thing?”

_No beating around the bush then_ , Dylan thinks and can’t help the feeling of relief. His friendship with Tyler is too precious to him to have it ruined with lingering doubt or unspoken feelings, or with regret. He shakes his head and immediately sees the shift in Tyler’s face that tells him that he’s not the only one feeling _more_.

“I mean, it’s okay if you want to…” Tyler says and gulps like it hurts him to think of it that way, “If it’s a ‘what happens at Alpha Con stays at Alpha Con’ deal.”

“Do you want it to be?”

Dylan’s voice almost breaks on the question, but he’s determined to not sway Tyler’s answer, to not give himself space for doubt. If Tyler wants this to be more, Dylan doesn’t want to wonder if it’s because he knows what Dylan wants.

“No,” Tyler whispers. “But…”

“Then it’s not,” Dylan says simply, interrupting Tyler before they talk their way out of whatever is happening.

Just then, the buzz of Dylan’s alarm clock breaks the quietness of the room and both of them groan at the disturbance.

“I should get ready,” Dylan mumbles, but he doesn’t let go of Tyler’s hand.

“Your talk is only a half hour, isn’t it?” Tyler asks and Dylan wonders if Tyler memorized the whole schedule, or only Dylan’s part.

“Yeah, then the solo talk,” he grumbles and tenses a little.

“I’ll be there,” Tyler whispers and kisses him. “For the talk, I mean. If you want… if you think it’ll help.”

“Please,” Dylan says in response and shifts so he’s closer to Tyler, letting himself be wrapped into a hug.

Moments later the alarm buzzes again and Dylan gets out of bed reluctantly, his eyes sweeping over Tyler who stretches out slowly, still rather unfairly naked as Dylan points out. They both get dressed and ready, but don’t leave together, Tyler staying behind and out of sight when Dylan’s PA shows up to bring him to his meet-and-greet. Later, Tyler is hovering in the backstage area during Dylan's talk, just visible enough that his presence settles Dylan’s nerves, and ready with a snack before they’re both whisked off for their photoshoots. After that they’re on stage _together_ and Dylan is more relaxed than before, as much as he allows himself without giving away what happened in the morning. He’s leaving soon, isn’t staying for the rest of the convention, but Tyler steals him away for a lunch in private, their meal broken up by kisses and touches and promises of _after_.

Later, when he’s off the plane and back home, Dylan looks at photos from the closing ceremony, sees Tyler’s giddy grin and wonders for a moment if it's brighter because of him. There’s a line-up of other events that he knows Tyler is headed to, and work on the rest of the season, but after… they’ll have all of the after to figure things out. For now, the text message with a photo of Grumpy Cat looking more sad than grumpy and the words ‘miss you’ that follow it are enough.


End file.
